


Something about December

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Christmas tree farm, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Running a Christmas Tree Farm isn't easy but they wouldn't trade it for the world.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Something about December

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts), [FantasticWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticWinter/gifts).



The sun was coming up, turning the snow bluish in color as dawn was chased away. A pair of shires, coats dark and glistening, had left the shelter to roam the pen, graced with fresh fluffy snow. The male lopped along the fence while the female snuffling into the snow for the scraggly bit of withered grass that was hiding beneath it. A breeze picked up a bit of the light snow, sending it swirling in front of a house that stood two stories, a dark pitch roofed blanketed in white from the snowfall the night before. It had blue shutters with beige vinyl siding and a big farmers porch, snow built up on the railings. A bluejay took flight from a beechnut tree, shaking snow from the boughs as he swooped, answering a call unheard in the cold silence. He rested on a wooden sign boasting: Rollins Tree Farm, cleaning his wing. Once finished he fluffed his feathers and took off to his next destination. 

Everything was still at Rollins Tree Farm, the horses’ footsteps silent, their breath freezing in the air as they loped along together. The barn doors were cracked enough to see the sleigh sitting there, waiting to be used. The office sat at the top of the slope, a fresh layer of red with green trim had been slapped on late autumn. It popped against the white wonderland around it. Below the office sat acres upon acres of evergreens. It boasted an incredible variety for being family owned. Douglas, balsam, and scotch pine. There were stairs built into the slope, and a ramp as well for those who wanted to do things the old fashion way, to select the right tree from the lot and cut it down by hand and drag their tree up on a sled. Children often brought sleds and, once bored of searching for the right one, would take numerous trips up and down until the slope was packed down and smooth. It was a bit of a hazard, as the Rollins’ knew, so they had a hand painted sign reading: Sledding zone, very slick. Their warning worked, and they catered primarily to regulars who didn’t need signs. But there was a ski resort a few towns over and many of the tourists were curious and eager to have a real tree as opposed to the fake ones like they had at a home. 

The sun continued to rise over the purple mountains, basking the tree farm in more light as it crept upwards. It reached the perfect spot and light peeked into the second story window. The window belonged to a little boy, TJ, who was coaxed from his dreams as the sun offered a wake up kiss. He laid there a moment, squinting, holding tight to his stuffed wolf, and then he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He took a moment to get his bearings, to process that he was now awake and his dreams were nothing but distant memories. And as his exhaustion began to fade, excitement took over. He was on winter break, had been for almost four whole days, and that meant he could help his parents on the farm and he just loved each and every second of it. He hopped out of his bed, feet almost tangling in his frog patterned comforter before he bounded off in his, fittingly, frog pajamas. 

The hallway floors were a bit chilly and he wished he’d worn his bunny slippers but it was too late to turn back down. He ran down the hallway, past the guest bedroom and the painting hung up that his parents had gotten at a craft fair, then he ran past the upstairs bathroom door and a photo of his parents holding him when he was just a little baby until, finally, he was in front of the bedroom door. He turned the handle and scurried inside. 

The master bedroom wasn’t impressive in size, in fact he was a bit cramped considering the size of the house. All the bedrooms were small, a house built in a time when a bed and a dresser were the only furniture needed. The cornucopia basket wallpaper had been stripped down by the men currently asleep. Jack Rollins had admired Brock on a stepstool, stripping the outmoded paper off, paint pails on the floor prematurely. Together they had brought the room up to date and made it theirs. And it still was, Brock on his side under a gray duvet, Jack holding from behind, his left arm over the covers, wrapped around him, holding him close. 

Their son tolerated the fact they were asleep for no more than five second before he took a running start and hopped on to the bed. “It’s morning time!”

Jack had woken up the second the bed shifted but Brock kept right on sleeping -- that is until his husband moved. “It sure is,” Jack said tiredly, shifted upwards. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Yeah-huh. I had dreams but I don’t remember them. Isn’t that funny?” 

Jack smiled. He was the oldest of the home’s occupants, a few months shy of forty. Some days he was overwhelmed with the fact they had an eight year old, fearing he was too old to take on the responsibility. But then he remembered he wasn’t alone, that he had his husband who was just over a decade younger and should something happen, TJ wouldn’t be alone. That was very important to him, to be prepared for any situation. Brock often reminded him that he couldn’t plan for anything. To that Jack retorted, ‘I’ll do my damnedest then’. Brock had a strange contrast with Jack. Where Jack fretted and worried, Brock was steadfast and certain, and with that came stubbornness. Once the man had something in mind, he was dead set on it. And once he had an opinion there was no changing it. There were several instances that made it less than desirable. Especially when he was wrong. And when he was finally proved wrong, he was morose and sulky. 

Jack had his fair share of unfavorable aspects. He was petty and could be short tempered when he felt ignored which put him at odds with Brock at times. There were still the problems of his worries and his anxiety and how it made him snappy; when he felt slighted when things changed, especially in an unfavorable way. Plans changing could bring out the worst in him, that or last minute adjustments. 

But, regardless of their misgivings and the worst of their characters, they were a happy family. They had adopted TJ when he was just a few months old, a victim of fetal alcohol syndrome and a challenge to take on. They hadn't hesitated and neither had regretted it. He was perfect in their eyes, and in everyone else who met him, with his small blue eyes, and little upturned nose. He had the traits of course, a thin upper lip, a smooth philtrum, a small head. He had intellectual disabilities as well, though in Brock’s opinion it was a blanket term for anyone different. In Jack’s opinion it just made him all the sweeter. No one could meet TJ and not be immediately charmed. So if that was considered a disability then yes, he surely was. 

“Can we make scrambled eggs?” TJ asked, the boy almost vibrating with energy. 

His father nodded his head. “I think that’s a great idea. That’ll give daddy some time to wake up.” 

“Do I have to?” 

“It’s Saturday.” 

Brock groaned unhappily but flopped over and looked at TJ with sleepy brown eyes. “Where’s my hug?” 

TJ lit up, ironically, like a Christmas tree, and quickly threw his arms around him, placing a rather wet kiss on his cheek. “Morning Daddy!” TJ crowed. The man flinched at the noise but didn't object. “We’re going to make scrambled eggs. I think I want tomatoes and cheese in my mine.” 

“I think that sounds pretty darn good. Make me some will you?” 

“Can I go out and feed Onyx and Ob?” 

“After we eat you can.” Jack replied. 

TJ sighed loudly, and heavily, as though waiting until he was properly fed caused him great suffering but he nodded his head in acceptance. While Brock got up, TJ slipped off the bed and ran to fetch his slippers -- fuzzy little things with floppy ears and black button eyes Brock had found at a farmers market; it was made from sheep’s wool at a farm just over yonder from where the Tree Farm was. They would get spring lamb from them every year. With his slippers firmly affixed and his toes toasty, he hurried past the home office and down the fair turn steps, pausing on the landing to look out the pen where Obsidian and Onyx were meandering around together in the early light. A fresh wave of excitement lit up the boy as he hurried down the steps, around the corner and into the hall. He ran past the living room and into the kitchen dining room mix. Jack had heard the sound of the grips on the bottom of his slippers as TJ had come in but the man still acted surprised when the boy tried to scare him. He turned around and an animated sigh of relief to which TJ giggled. 

“You sure got me with that scare! Gonna get me a heart attack one of these days.” 

TJ didn’t know what a heart attack was because, had he knew, he would’ve promised he’d do such a thing. But TJ didn’t so he took it as a win and quickly dragged a chair over so he could help. Jack was dicing tomatoes and the child didn’t ask to help because he knew the answer. No, sharp items were not allowed to be touched, they could hurt him and nothing was allowed to hurt TJ. He was allowed to crack eggs which he did, slowly and methodically. Soon they were being poured into a hot pan, TJ at a distance as usual, and his other parent appeared, dressed and fresh faced. TJ gave him another a hug, a proper one, and the two set the table. 

Breakfast was a joyous affair, all content with tomato and cheese scrambled eggs and eager to face the day. Brock and TJ did dishes while Jack dressed and just shy of six thirty minutes they were bundling up for a long day outside. Brock clipped TJ’s snow overalls and pulled the tab of his jacket while Jack tied his boots. It was a long day outside in the cold -- joy came at that cost -- and they both feared TJ being uncomfortable. The child didn’t mind, chattering about he hoped to see and wild guesses on how many trees they’d sell (“A bajillion I think”) and Jack smiled. That would certainly be nice, assuming he had that many trees.

Tree Farming wasn’t a lucrative business, sometimes it didn’t pay the mortgage and Jack had to take on a second job for the season to avoid going under completely. But he made sure the family had what it did. It wasn’t the most luxurious of living but it was happy and that was what mattered most at the end of the day. They faced the day, cold crisp pressing against their skin. As usual TJ took a deep breath and exhaled, watching the air in front of him freeze into ‘smoke’. 

“I’m a dragon!”

“A very scary one,” Brock agreed. 

He took TJ’s mittened hands in his gloved ones, and they headed towards the barn. They slipped around the sleigh to grab a pail of in one hand and bucket of grain the other. TJ tried to share the load by holding the handle with Brock. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that it only made it more difficult. The massive horses knew exactly what to expect and were waiting expectantly by the fence door. Their shoulders stood taller than him and he had to crank his head back to see their heads. They were gentle giants however, not easily spooked and fine with being pet. They rode easy as well, a photograph on the mantle depicted TJ when he was six and it had dwarfed him. TJ got the latch and swung the gate out for Brock. He entered and the horses followed them to the pen. He laid out hay, filled the grain trough and emptied the heated trough. TJ stayed to watch the horses eat while Brock fetched fresh water for them. 

TJ was talking them through their day when Brock splashed the water in. Onyx bowed his head and nickered to ask for a pet. Brock placed his palm against the velvet skin between his eyes and stroked him down to his nose. He did so twice until Obsidian came to demand the same attention. Brock answered their calls and once satisfied the horses ambled over to eat. 

It was one step down. 

The hum of an engine was muffled by the snow, a natural sound absorber. The fragile silence remained, peaceful, serene. As Jack plowed the snow Brock got busy shoving and deicing the steps to their home as well as to the office. TJ took his self appointed job of pulling the sleds from the barn and propping them up against the office wall. He started to trample the top of the slope, determined to create the ideal sliding space. Then he grabbed a tube and packed it with multiple trips up and down. 

In the office, Brock flipped on the lights. There was a giant train track in the center, built and curated by Jack. Figurines and model buildings ran along the track. Brock was always amused by Jack’s fascination with them but every year, after the apples were picked, he watched Jack piece it together. It was an art in a way, a skill that had been honed on by his passion. Beyond the train set there were shelves running all along the walls stocked from top to bottom with crafts made by locals. There was a set of thermos dispensers -- one for hot cider that he would add after opening, and one for water that was sitting beside instant coffee and hot chocolate packets. Paintings, fudge and homemade truffles, CBD and THC soft chews and candies, woolen mittens and ornaments, handspun yarn, maple syrup, honey -- a bit of something from everyone. Brock hosted the platform for the sellers with a small percentage of what was sold. The lighting was soft, free from the harshness of LEDs. It set a festive, though calm, mood. He walked around the counter, tidying the displays sitting on the counter and double checked the register before he went outside to assure TJ was still sliding -- which he was. 

The farm didn’t open until eight and a glance at his watch showed him he still had forty minutes. 

“I’m going to go pack down the main trail. Want a ride?” 

TJ’s cheeks were rosy with excitement and he popped his head up from down the slope. “Yes!” 

Brock walked to the garage and got out the snow mobile. TJ came running, dragging a tube almost the same size as him. Brock tied it to the snowmobile and soon father and son were packing a main trail to the rows of trees. They stretched as far as the eye could see, a sea of green. To the left of the tree farm was a quaint orchard where locals came for a pound or two of McIntoshs. He went back up the slope, helping to pack it down a bit more than a tube could and looped around the trail the sleigh would be pulled along. It was easier on the horses though they could have easily powered through it. The horses and the sleigh had been an impulsive decision. A couple in Bennington were moving and didn’t have property acreage for horses of their size. It was a steal really, three thousand dollars for a handsome pair geldings. For the first few years they did riding as a secondary appeal to buy from the farm. Then, when browsing Craigslist for a cord or two of firewood he stumbled upon the sleigh. 

It had taken a bank loan to secure it but a few short weeks after he saw it, the beautiful sleigh was delivered and became part of the experience. They scraped enough to get draft equipment, second hand, a local friend had connected jingle bells to them to really sell the mood. TJ waved at the horses as they passed them again. Brock did five passes, just to be sure, and then returned to the garage. Jack had parked the tractor and was checking his cell phone. TJ hopped along after him asking if it was time to hitch up the horses. It was, and TJ knew it. He was looking forward to the first pull. A local teenager, Cameron, who was well versed in horses would arrive at eight thirty for the first runs. He earned a credit at school in exchange for his work at the farm -- that and free apple cider and a christmas tree of any size. Brock started with Onyx, leading him from the pen with a rope harness. A friendly giant, he wandered behind him. 

He tolerated getting dressed up: blinders, bearing reins, bridle, collar pad, round collar, harness, belly backer, girth band, etc. It was muscle memory now, four winters now of hitching them. Obsidian was soon hitched beside him and Brock slid up into the front bench and took the reins, The sleigh held two benches facing each other behind the driver’s bench. The horses didn't hesitate a second and were so well trained in their path they needed no directions. The joyous sound of jingling bells filled the air, tinkering with Christmas spirit. TJ was sitting back enjoying all the space. He ran them twice, mostly to pack the snow a bit further. They would go at fifteen minute increments with a fifteen minute break for the horses every two trips where they had water breaks. 

He brought the horses to a stop as seven forty five rolled around. He left the horses in position and went to check in with Jack. He had cut a few trees for those who didn’t want to go down to the farm itself and was feeding them through the baler. 

“Are we set?” he asked. 

“Looks like it,” Brock replied. 

He tilted his head upwards. The sky was a light blue and the sun beams made the snow glimmer. A beautiful day. It was a Saturday so he suspected a long busy day which was fine with him. It promised a lot of business and business was what kept them out of the red. The first cars came, beginning what could only be described as a tidal wave. Locals and tourists alike arrived all at once, some heading down for trees immediately, others interested in the pair of horses and the red sleigh. Brock spent most of the day in the office, cashing out the people and ringing up the craft buys. As usual the THC left first, tourists always eager to indulge while they can. Maple syrup, then honey. Children crowded around the train set, adhering to the sign asking no one to touch it. 

The day flew by, a flurry of activity, and next thing Brock knew, five hit and the last customers left, trees ratcheted to their roofs. Brock counted down the register, dumped the bit of apple cider into a cup for himself. He sipped as he took inventory, noting down who he owed money to come Monday. The horses were back in their pen when Brock exited the office. Jack was turning off the tree baler and dragging it back to the garage. TJ was sledding still, taking advantage of the bit of sunlight left in the day. Brock signed off on Cameron’s hours log and he was got a wave before he started off down the road. 

Cleaning up was easier than setting up and by six thirty Jack was rekindling the fire while Brock cut chicken into chunks to cook in a frying pan before he added them to chicken noodle soup. TJ elaborated on everything he’d done (“Cameron let me hold the reins, y’know. He says I did a really good job!”) and Brock smiled. It was nice to be inside, warm and cozy, after a successful day. Tomorrow would be busy as well, an onslaught of church goers would come as they always did. 

Running a tree farm wasn’t lucrative, it was hard work. But no member of the family wouldn’t change it, not for the world.


End file.
